


Forever (is too long)

by emma_394



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canon Compliant, Domestic Bliss, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018) Compliant, Passionate Correspondence (referenced), Post-Drift (Pacific Rim), Sort Of, also, also notice the Hannibal quotes, at least in the last chapter, but then my brain went “no screw it”, have I mentioned mutual pining, like a lot of mutual pining, no it doesn’t actuallt but it could, the title refers to how long it takes for those two to MOVE, there was supposedly to be a happy ending, they’re both so fucking oblivious i CAN’T, they’re everywhere lol, which is a secondary addition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 07:43:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18633817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emma_394/pseuds/emma_394
Summary: When they touched, it felt like he finally was whole again. Like their bodies were just supposed to fit together in that embrace, like their mind were one- Hermann couldn’t tell where Newt’s sensations stopped and his began.We stopped it we stopped it I’m tired I was a rockstar I showed him we’re together he’s safewe’re conjoined.“We’re tired.” Newt murmured, his lips moving around his neck and sending a shiver through his spine. Hermann wondered if he felt it too- if Newt had realised the extent of his inconvenient feelings. He didn’t seem to care right now; drift withdrawal was stronger than anything else.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnyxSphynx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/gifts).



After cancelling the apocalypse, Hermann could go on for a couple of hours on adrenaline.  
The idea that they did it, that everything was finally fine, and that he and Newton, _together_ , had been able to save the day- it was enough to make him insensitive to pain, tiredness, and any other worry.

In the control room, a party had started almost spontaneously, and everyone was crying, dancing to obnoxious music and downing several glasses of Tendo’s secret stock; but Hermann longed for just two things: sleep, and Newt.

His body was tired to the breaking point, and he dreamt about a warm shower and the softness of his pillow. But the only stronger necessity was _him_ : it was a desperate longing, like he was hooked to thousands of invisible threads, all pulling towards him. It was more than a simple desire; it made him physically sick.

As soon as he found Newt in the crowd, he saw the same desperation reflected in his eyes. They made their way towards each other, and the uneasiness reduced; eventually, their bodies touched, and they were holding each other, not knowing who had initiated it, Newt’s arms around Hermann’s waist, his face in the crook of his neck.

Hermann felt Newt’s heartbeat, synchronised with his, and realised that his life was ruined.

It wasn’t all completely new for him; he knew what happened to Jaeger pilots after drifting. He knew about the withdrawal, about the codependency, about how the Drift scarred even the minds of those that were fit for it in the first place. But he couldn’t have imagined that it would be so bad after only one drift.

Surely, what he felt for him even before wasn’t helping.  
Denying it and repressing it was no use; it was just there. And it was strong- strong enough to survive Newt’s daily quirks and flaws, stronger than the annoyance. Dangerously so.

When they touched, it felt like he finally was whole again. Like their bodies were just supposed to fit together in that embrace, like their mind were one- Hermann couldn’t tell where Newt’s sensations stopped and his began.

 _We stopped it we stopped it I’m tired I was a rockstar I showed him we’re together he’s safe_ we’re conjoined.

“We’re tired.” Newt murmured, his lips moving around his neck and sending a shiver through his spine. Hermann wondered if he felt it too- if Newt had realised the extent of his inconvenient feelings. He didn’t seem to care right now; drift withdrawal was stronger than anything else.

Without a single word, they headed to Newt’s quarters, arms intertwined to not stop the contact. They didn’t share a thought, not exactly; it was more of a sensation, an input, something that neither of them could rationalise or explain the source of.

They fell asleep, messily tangled together, in silence. Hermann would have been ashamed of the way he held onto Newt, if he wasn’t doing the same, clinging so hard that his fingernails dug painfully in Hermann’s arm.

The next morning, when he woke up, seeing Newt next to him and feeling the warmth of his body almost gave him a heart attack. This looked like something out of one of his forbidden dreams- except that it was very real.

The next thing he processed was the excruciating pain in his leg; the previous day had put an enormous strain on it.

Both things made him certain that he had to get out of there as soon as possible and head for his room. He slowly moved Newt’s head off of his chest, careful not to wake him up, and unraveled himself from his arm. Then, he carefully stood up, leaning heavily on his cane, and headed to the door slowly, fighting the pain in his leg and the dangerous longing in his chest.

-

He and Newt avoided each other for the next two days; or at least, they tried to.  
In the chaos of packing their stuff and recording everything in the possibility of a second Kaiju threat, honouring the dead and making sure the living stayed that way, it would have been easy for them to pretend they were too busy to spend time with each other. Besides the time needed for categorising the lab equipment and dividing their possessions, they could spend the rest of their day separated; but no matter how hard they tried, they always ended up being around the other. Maybe it was their old habit of working together all day, everyday; maybe it was drift withdrawal. But either way, an intense codependency was growing between them, something that Hermann both longed for and feared.

Luckily, there hadn’t been any other moments like the first night; on the second one, Hermann had been able to sleep alone, after staring at the ceiling and fidgeting to find the right position- something that had never happened to him, even in his darkest moments.

Yes, he had called a couple of people-including one of the doctors that visited him to make sure the drifting hadn’t damaged his brain- “dude”. And yes, while he was watching a portion of Kaiju entrails that Newt had left on his side of the lab, he caught himself thinking that there was something fascinating about it, after all. And the previous evening, while they were having dinner in the cafeteria, he realised suddenly that he and Newt were holding hands, without having no idea when they had started, and the worst thing was that it felt _right_. But it was all under control, wasn’t it?

He sighs as, sitting in the laboratory alone at lunchtime, he keeps browsing through estate agencies sites; _one bedroom, one kitchen and living room, one bathroom. A nice balcony. Third floor, and no elevator_ ; he ditches the insertion and passes to the next, slightly shifting on his chair to stop the leg from hurting.

Even if the past two days he’s done his best to rest, he’s still weary from that surreal night; he is still sleep deprived, and, according to the doctors, it’s going to take at least a week before his leg recovers completely from the strain. Stress isn’t helping for sure; doubts surrounding his future, his uselessness now that his job is done and the world is safe, are keeping him tense; and avoiding Newt, he realises, isn’t benefiting him either. It always feels like he’s lacking something; and the sensation goes away, replaced by a feeling of relaxation and fulfilment, as soon as he enters the room.

But he needs to endure this, he needs to fight it like a bad habit; he can’t let himself become dependent on the man, he thinks, as he clicks on the next insertion for a one-person flat in Boston.

He twitches his lips in pain as another cramp hits him; he tries to stretch his leg, but he can barely move without shaking. Hurried, he searches his pocket for a bottle of painkillers, but they aren’t there; he realises he left them in his room.

He quickly estimates if he’d be able to get to his quarters; the answer is no. He needs to wait for the pain to pass. It’s unlikely that someone will come to the laboratory before at least a good half hour; Newt has left only a few minutes earlier to have lunch, and there aren’t many other people who usually go in there.

He moves on the chair, trying to find a position that can relieve the pain; he could try reaching the small sofa that he and Newt have placed against one of the walls, but if he falls on his way, he could get seriously hurt.

The few minutes that pass seem stretched out impossibly; he tries to focus on his search to distract himself, but it’s almost impossible.  
Then, after less than ten minutes, the door is thrown open.

“I’m here!” Newt rushes to him, out of breath, holding his pills. “Thank god I know your access code, dude. That was awful!” he rambles as he passes Hermann the bottle.

Hermann’s able to mutter a “Thank you” before downing a painkiller; as soon as he thinks that he would need a glass of water, Newt places it in his hand.

“I felt that, I- I was just having lunch and I felt like someone had stabbed my leg, and then I realised you’d forgotten your pills. Man, that was so weird! I had no idea you’d forgotten your pills, but I knew! And it hurt so fucking much, you can’t imagine- no, I mean, you can, but you feel me? _It was so mental_. Literally, ha!”  
Newt rambles, casually brushing Hermann’s arm with his hand. The touch makes Hermann feel slightly better, even before the painkiller takes effect. His whole body relaxes and he’s filled with calm, like an addict taking his first drag.

“Are you okay?”  
He looks at Newt, at his worried expression, the red mark in his sclera still visible from after the drift, wild-haired, full lips slightly parted, and feels a deep fondness. _I can’t live without this man._ The thought scares him; but it feels so definitive, so undeniable. They’re in each other’s head; they’re not whole without the other. And Hermann knows that, if he’ll have to live without Newt, it will always feel like a part of him is missing. Somehow, his hand is on top of Newt’s, who’s still holding his arm. He hasn’t memory of putting it there; it’s been unconscious. Again.

“Yes, yes, don’t worry. It’s nothing.” He breathes in, tries to look for the right words to ask the infamous question. “Newton-“ he starts.

“What were you doing anyway?” Newt looks at the computer over his shoulder. Hermann catches the instant in which his expression freezes. “Oh.”

“Newt-“

“Yeah, well, you’re right. I should- uh, I should look for a flat too. You were very… provident. It’s not like we can keep living in a bunker and sharing a lab forever, huh.” he babbles, letting go of Hermann’s arm.

Hermann stares at him, the words trapped in his throat, and now he desperately wishes for Newt to be able to read his thoughts, but it’s like he put up a wall. He’s slowly backing away, looking shaken.

“I have to go,you know, I have to finish lunch. And you- you have to finish your search. Goodbye.” he quickly says, then turns away and leaves the room.

Hermann sighs, looking at the closing door.

-

“So, I guess you and Newton are moving in together.”

Hermann chokes on his black coffee as soon as the sentence leaves Tendo’s lips.

“W-what?” he gasps pathetically, trying to regain a glimpse of composure.

The man is sitting opposite him in the cafeteria, his eye bags worryingly dark. Tendo, like everyone in the Shatterdome, is suffering; they’re mourning their losses, no matter how heroic they were, but at the same time they’re trying to go on. Hermann almost envies Tendo’s ability to keep himself cheerful, to talk about mundane stuff, about the future, about what’s left. He’s always been a people person; the only evidence needed for that is that he was able to become friends even with someone like Hermann.

“Yeah, yeah, come on, man, you’re not fooling anyone. You’re always holding hands and exchanging those long looks and- you think I didn’t see you sneak away from the party to go God-knows-where and do…things?”

“Do _things_?” Hermann repeats in a tone that makes Tendo flinch slightly. “Your assumptions are incorrect and, er, extremely unfortunate.” he goes on, neutral.

“But you can’t deny that there’s something!” Tendo insists, smiling gleefully at him as he takes the last bite of his bagel.

“There’s nothing!”

With his usual timing, Newt passes by their table and stops next to Hermann.

“Good morning!” he spontaneously grabs his hand and squeezes it for a moment, before quickly letting go. “Sorry, sorry, I just _had_ to touch you.” He lets out a nervous laugh and plays it off with a joking wink, then walks away faster than necessary.

Hermann sighs as Tendo gives him a know-it-all look. “Nothing, I see.”

“Listen, that’s just drift withdrawal. We aren’t together or anything like that. It’s just an overwhelming necessity to be close- it happens to jaeger pilots as well.”

“Okay, let’s pretend that all jaeger pilots act like you- which isn’t true, but let’s pretend it is. Wouldn’t that be a good enough reason to move in together? Why are you so defensive, man?”

“I am not going to foster codependency between two people with such complicated feelings about each other.” Hermann replies, stone-cold, as he stands up and turns to leave.

“ _Complicated feelings_?” Tendo echoes him. “Okay, at least we’re getting closer.”

Hermann turns back to him. “What I mean is that I and Newton have had a… _professional_ correspondence that didn’t end well, then we’ve been forced to work in the same environment, which, yes, created some fondness between us, but was definitely not endearing.” He justifies. “Letting myself get illusions about a life with him would be foolish and unrealistic.” He tries to keep his voice as steady as possible, to talk like he’s explaining a purely scientific matter. But his voice shakes, betraying him.

“So, basically, you like him, but you’re afraid it’s not going to work out.” Tendo sums up.

“I didn’t say-“

“That’s what you said, man. Stop offending my intelligence, come on. I’ve been listening to you talking about him for five years, pretending to believe that you totally weren’t head over heels for him- but please. It’s become a joke. If you want to move in with him, just tell him!”

Hermann starts walking away, but Tendo follows him, demanding for an answer.

“It would be disrespectful to make a demand that will put him through the embarrassment of having to refuse.” The bitterness in his voice is clear, now; he’s not trying to hide under his usual neutral, stiff tone anymore.

Tendo chuckles. “I hope you’re being sarcastic, man. ‘Cause if he says no, then you can officially declare that my sixth sense, or, uh, emotional intelligence, as the most stuck-up ones like to call it, has definitely failed me. Hell, we can even bet on it.” He looks at him with an expectant smile, holding a tentative hand towards him. “Trust me. He won’t say no.”

Hermann waves him off. “I have an high esteem of your _emotional intelligence_ ” he starts, not without a hint of irony. “But when you draw a conclusion without being aware of all the evidence, it is inevitable for said conclusion to be wrong.” He bites his lip, realising too late that he might have said something than can lead to uncomfortable questions. But his proverbial self-control is starting to fail him; the stress and sleep deprivation he has racked up in the last five years are starting to come back to the surface, now that the emergency is over, and his situation with Newt is the last straw. Tendo sounds more like his inner voice trying to hold onto some foolish illusion.

“Ooh, then tell me the things I don’t know.” He immediately says, _of course_. Hermann sighs.

“It’s almost impossible for a relationship between two people to not be influenced by what one sees in the drift. That’s the reason why couple therapy doesn’t work; some things are better left unsaid.” He’s lapidary; doesn’t add a single detail, but is afraid that this is already too much.

“That’s bullshit! Couple therapy worked just fine for me!”

Hermann gives him a look. “You are divorced, Tendo.”

Tendo gestures uselessly. “Yes, okay, okay, no need to be such an ass about that. That’s not the point! The point is, he feels the same! He’s experiencing drift withdrawal just like you, and, from what I’ve seen, the love you’re trying so hard to deny is requited, and you’re just delaying the day you two will finally elope and become a disgusting married couple with your unjustified paranoias, you absolute _dumbass_.”

Hermann grimaces, asking himself how Tendo dares call him a dumbass. He doesn’t know anyone else who would,- besides, of course, Newt, but Newt strays from any of Hermann’s rules- just as he doesn’t know anyone else who would dare give him sentimental advice, or try to imply that he has _feelings_.

“Your greatest luck, Mr. Choi, is being the only person that I could describe as having a friendship bond with me. Else, nobody would be able to find the tiniest piece of your corpse.”

Tendo laughs. “Okay, okay, I take that as a compliment.” He stops and pats his shoulder, looking in his eyes. “Just ask him, man. If it goes wrong, you can come to my quarters and I’ll be morally obligated to share some whiskey I was going to save for myself. So either way you win something.” Then he catches Hermann’s look and immediately rectifies. “But it’ll go well! It’ll go well!”

Hermann nods, and a disturbingly familiar voice in his head says _“fortune favors the bold, dude.”_

-

He finds Newt sitting on the Shatterdome roof, dangerously close to the border, his legs dangling in the air. He’s looking at his cellphone, headphones in and of course, when Hermann calls his name, he doesn’t hear him.

He carefully walks to him and lowers himself on the roof.  
He touches his arm, and Newt jumps up in surprise. “Careful!” Hermann yells, gripping his shoulders -like it would be of any use if he were to fall off the roof.

“What the fuck, dude!” Newt yells back, taking off his headphones. “You scared me!” Hermann immediately lets go, and Newt tries to fix his shirt.  
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“ Hermann looks at the way he’s nervously rubbing his arms, and feels a slight hint of pain as well. He must have gripped him too hard; his nervousness is showing. “I was afraid you were going to fall.”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, it’s cool.” Newt briefly touches his knee, and gives him an hesitant smile. “You were looking for me?”

“Yes- yes, well, nothing in particular.” He searches the pocket of his parka and fishes out a paper bag. “I brought you some cookies.”

Newt smiles in response and Hermann feels the heat rush to his face. A _“thank you”_ echoes in his mind, surrounded by warmth, by the pleasing surprise of a nice, unexpected little thing. Uncomfortable, he bites his lip, hoping that the emotion sharing isn’t flowing both ways- that Newt can’t feel the depth of his fondness.

At least, he doesn’t give him any sign of doing so. He opens the bag, picks a cookie, and gives it a bite. Then, he offers it to Hermann with a gesture.

“No, thank you.” His stomach is definitely too knotted to eat anything.  
“Come on, why not? Is that because I bit it? Am I a turn-off for you?”  
Hermann restrains himself from answering, and forces his eyes to stop lingering on Newt’s lips, pink and slightly parted and _soft_ -  
“That’s not the issue.” he sigh pathetically.

“It would be good for you, you know. You’re way too skinny.” Newt insists, as he takes another bite of the cookie.  
“There isn’t any problem with my weight, Newton.”he answers, maybe a bit too stiffly.  
“No, no, of course, never said that. You’re _perfect_ , man.”

Hermann flinches at the word. Newt is heavily leaning on his shoulder by now, and the causality of how he said that- the _domesticity_ of them sitting on that roof together, offering cookies to each other and _touching_ and saying things that aren’t insults- is killing him. His embarrassment seems doubled, like he’s sharing his thoughts with Newt again and they’re both feeling it- but it can’t be, right? Or at least, not for the same reason. Newt must be embarrassed because he’s just told something like that to a person he doesn’t even like.

The thought almost makes Hermann give up on his heroic purpose; but Newt is warm and soft against him and their hands have found each other again, like it’s just the most natural thing. So he takes a deep breath and asks.

“Did you eventually find a satisfying settlement?”

“You mean- you mean an apartment?” Newt’s voice is uncertain. He lets go of Hermann’s hand -which disappoints him way more than he’d like- and starts fidgeting with one of his headphones. “The best options are always more fitting for two people.” he lets out a nervous laugh. “Can you believe it? If only we weren’t so eager to get rid of each other. I wonder how we managed to resist for so long without, I don’t know, stabbing each other?”  
“An agreement to ignore the worst in each other in order to keep enjoying the best.” Hermann says, neutral, his heart racing as he tries to understand where Newt is going.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Newt quickly nods, going on. “I mean, you sure can’t wait- And I don’t blame you, ha! If _I_ could, I would get rid of myself too.” That nervous laugh again; Hermann feels the urge to grip his hand again, stroke his hair and kiss him, holding him tight enough to _prove him wrong._  
But then, Newt keeps talking.

“And I mean, I can’t wait ‘till I get rid of you as well, dude. Friends and all, but, you’ll agree with me, five years have been more than enough. I can’t imagine being in my house and hearing you go ‘Dr. Geiszler, your underwear is on my side of the room! This is extremely aggravating and I’m going to file a complaint!’ No, no, absolutely, no way.” His words are fast, and they stumble on one another as they come out; meanwhile, he has put one of his headphones back on. Hermann knows it’s a bad sign: he’s giving him only half of his attention.

He looks at him, hesitates; but that’s a no, and to Hermann, his dignity is too important to waste it beating a dead horse. It’s clear to him, by now, that holding hands and sharing thoughts and always looking for each other had no meaning.

He thinks about the intense experience of the drift, the shared memories and that comforting feeling that everything was falling into place, like an equation unfolding and revealing its result in absolute, universal perfection. The points where one’s soul had blurred into the other’s had felt just like that; like Hermann had finally found _something_ , something that made sense; a place in the confused world that his mind had so desperately been trying to make sense of, to turn into a precise, mathematical design.

His feelings, locked away and buried under fears, had finally been freed; he imagined it would have been terrifying, but it wasn’t. He felt them echoed and sent back, strong enough to think it was flowing both ways, that Newt _loved_ him back.  
But it was an illusion; later, he realised he’d been projecting; the two of them were so conjoined that it was hard to tell who was feeling what.  
It was time to accept that realisation.

“I have work to do.” he says stoically, struggling to stand up on the slippery roof. Newt nods, his eyes fixed on the sky in front of him. When Hermann is already going away, he looks back for a second, and Newt turns to him as well, parting his lips as if he’s about to say something. Then he blinks, flashes him a nostalgic, enigmatic smile, and turns away again.

“Sure, dude. Have fun.”  
-

Hermann can’t see them clearly; can’t hold onto a proper image of them. Just flashes, ineffable as smoke, wavering in the dark, running through his mind and making his heart beat faster.

A part of him is still awake, still lucid; like a voice from a padded room, screaming and urging him to wake up, heard just as a pale echo.  
The rest of his thoughts are terrifying.

Extermination and conquer and _death_ and the shared, bloody sensations of a whole species of monsters.  
His body is betraying him once again, anchored to his mattress, and everything is flashing blue as the last lucid part of him realised that _he can’t move he can’t breath he needs him but he can’t even scream and_ he can’t move-

Panic starts gripping him because _he must wake up he must wake up because if he falls asleep they_ -who are they? _\- will take control he must wake up he must–_

Newt.

 _Newt_ calls his name, desperation in his voice - _like when he was laying on the floor, blood flowing from his nose, unconscious, and they were taking control but then he heard his voice–_

_but that wasn’t him, it was Newt laying on the floor, and Hermann found him and rescued him and now instead-_

Hermann opens his eyes and sits up abruptly, drawing a sharp breath that almost hurts in his lungs and Newt is there, and he throws himself on the bed, curling up in his arms.

Hermann grips his hand, feeling Newt’s skin against his, the shape of any single tendon, and recognising the scar he got from one of his stupid, imprudent experiments, the outline of his tacky bracelets, and he knows Newt is right _here_ , right now, next to him.

He feels him shaking, the layer of cold sweat covering his skin, his accelerated breath, because he’s scared, _they’re scared_ , but they hold onto each other, and Newt’s skin is hot, almost feverish, and his hair is tickling Hermann’s neck and he feels their bodies pressing against each other, and they’re together. They’re together, and their breath becomes more regular, their minds stop racing so fast.

They lay in silence for a long time, until they’ve both recovered from their night terrors.  
Then Newt moves to look at Hermann and talks.

“I’m sorry.” It’s nothing more than a whisper. Hermann’s eyes have got used to the darkness, and he can see his face; he looks younger, more vulnerable, his hazel eyes appearing bigger without his glasses. There are dark circles around them, and he’s biting his already bloody lower lip.

“Sorry?” Hermann repeats, locking eyes with him.

“Yes. For crashing in your room in the middle of the night because I was having a nightmare. For- for needing you.” his voice gets weaker and weaker as he goes on, and the last sentence is almost a whine. Hermann holds his hand tighter.

“I was having a nightmare, too. We were seeing the same things- you _saved me_.” He clarifies.

“Oh.” Newt’s lips part, and he stares at their intertwined fingers. “oh, that’s weird.” he smiles slightly. “Sorry, man, it’s just hard to tell where- where I end and you begin, you know?”

Hermann nods. ”You and I have begun to blur.”he drawls.

“And it’s like, sometimes I feel guilty for… forcing my presence on you. But I just can’t stay away. I have to be in the same room as you, or I feel like shit, and when I touch you it’s a bit better. It’s withdrawal, and maybe I feel it more because I’m so clingy, so annoying- because you don’t seem to need me as much, and I wish I could just stop-“

“No.” Hermann interrupts him immediately.

“What?”

“I feel the exact same need, Newton. And by any means, don’t stop. _Don’t stop_.” His mouth feels dry, his mind empty; he can’t find words to express what he’s been thinking about for so long.

Newt smiles. “You mean, having me around doesn’t annoy you?” He makes it sound like a joke, like one of their usual provocations; but it’s not convincing, and Newt’s eyes, instead of looking at him with malice, stay fixed on their hands, and Hermann can feel a cry for help, a desperate desire to hear, for once, a different answer.

“No.” Newt’s eyes immediately look up, shiny and so expectant. “Oh, god, Geiszler, you’ll make me pay for this, right? It’s going to be used against me in so many ways.” he jokes, trying to break the tension, unable to stand the intensity of that look. “No, you don’t annoy me. Actually, having you around is- _endearing_.” Only after he says this Newt seems to understand the joke, and he smiles. “You’re not that bad either, dude.” he mutters, then adjusts himself against Hermann’s chest, clinging to his shirt and -involuntarily?-brushing his neck with his lips.

Hermann runs his fingers through his hair, then wraps an arm around his waist, his hand dangerously close to a patch of bare skin on his back, where his shirt has risen up. “We should sleep.” he murmurs, and before he can think about all the reasons why he shouldn’t do it, he presses a soft kiss against Newt’s forehead.

-

The next morning, Hermann wakes up next to Newt.  
They’re still in each other’s arms, their legs tangled-luckily, in a position that doesn’t hurt Hermann’s-, and during the night Hermann’s hand made its way inside Newt’s shirt, so that now he can feel his skin under his fingers, the slight outline of his backbone.

Newt is already awake; he’s looking at him, his eyes sleepy and his whole expression relaxed.  
“Good morning.” He says softly.

“Good morning, Newton.” Hermann whispers back. He leans in as if he were to kiss him- then remembers, stops, and, panicked, kisses his cheek instead. Newt lets out a muffled sound of surprise, and Hermann immediately pulls away, moving his hand from its inappropriate location.

Newt stretches, his legs brushing against Hermann’s, and takes a deep breath. “God, dude, I hadn’t slept so well after a nightmare in _ages_. I mean, yeah, technically, it was a terrible night, but, for once, falling back asleep and waking up wasn’t so terrifying.”

Hermann entangles his legs. “I thought you’d say the contrary, considering what the first thing you saw when you woke up was.” he jokes, carefully sitting up on the edge of the bed.

“Nah, man, I’ve seen worse.” Newt answers in the same light tone.

“Coming from a xenobiologist, this isn’t very comforting.”

Newt giggles. “Take it as you want, dude, but it was one of the best awakenings ever.”

Before Hermann can reply to that, ask what the _hell_ does it mean, Newt stands up. “Can I use your shower?” he asks.

“Your room is literally in front of mine, Newton, but fine, use my shower.” Hermann sighs, standing up and taking a sip of water from the bottle sitting on his handstand.

Newt giggles again, then heads for the bathroom. “Thank you, man, you’re the best.” The door shuts behind him and Hermann sighs again, wondering how it can be possible to be in someone’s head and still have no clue what he’s doing.

Hermann has to regret his decision, as Newt’s average shower is apparently 25 minutes long.  
He hears him singing a number of songs that are definitely unrecognisable -he remembers seeing in the drift that Newt used to be the vocalist of a rock band, and now he wonders how that could have been possible-; then, the worrying sound of something fragile being knocked on the floor- a glass bottle of bath salts that Karla gifted him the last Christmas, he suspects- followed by Newt’s colourful imprecations; and eventually, as Newt keeps humming some cheerful tune, the water stops running.

The door opens, and he’s there, his hair wet from the hot steam, a towel wrapped around his hips. Hermann tries to look away; the glimpse he catches of his chest, of the contrast between the colourful ink and his pale skin is already enough to raise thoughts that would become very uncomfortable if they were to share another ghost-drifting experience now. But he can’t control them; Newt is going around in his bedroom wearing nothing but a towel, drops of water covering his body, and _God, why is he leaning against the door frame like_ that _, he’s_ stunning _, he’s-_

“I think I broke a, a thing.” Newt finally says.

Hermann bites his lip. _You really can’t control to whom you fall in love._

“I heard that.” He says. “Was it the bath salts?”

Newt nods. “Yeah, well, I thought it was cristal meth, but that’s more likely now that you told me about it.”  
He straightens up and starts walking towards Hermann.

_Oh god oh god he’s coming there what do I do-_

“About that, it, uh, melted. There’s actually a little bit of… a mess left in there.”

Hermann sighs again. He doesn’t look at Newt; he’s right in front of him now, and he feels his cheeks getting warmer. “Remind me why I let you use my shower, Newton, please.”

“Uh… because you are a very helpful friend who doesn’t mind lending an hand?” Newt leans in towards him takes one of Hermann’s hands between his as he says the last words. Hermann snorts and pushes him away. “Well, now it’s never going to happen again!”

“But dude! It wasn’t my fault, I was just curious to see what it was and so I took it in my hand and things got really slippery with all that soap-“

Trying to avoid the mental image of Newt taking a shower, Hermann stands up. “Of course they did, because, if I know you, you used a disproportionate quantity of it-“

“Now are you blaming me for _using too much soap_?” Things are getting heated, as Hermann can tell from Newt’s agitated gestures.

“Yes, because _I_ was the one who bought it and-“

“Seriously, man, fuck you, I didn’t kill someone! I just broke a bottle of some useless stuff and you’re-“

“Learn to have some basic respect for other people’s property, _Newton_!” He eventually shouts.

Newt looks at him, frowning. “Fine. Fine, I’ll go away, so I’ll stop _invading your property_ or something.” He eventually says, hands on his hips, and heads to the door. As he gets closer, he starts slowing down. “I’m going away.” He repeats.

“Good.” Hermann plainly says, looking him in the eyes.

Newt lets out a final frustrated sound, then opens the door and leaves.

-

When Hermann finishes showering, the towel is sitting on top of his drawer, folded improperly, of course, and the scent of Newt’s usual cheap after-shave - _the one with a boat on the bottle, that some distant relative always gifts him for Christmas_ , the shared memories inform him- is still in the air. His clothes from the night before, that he’d tossed on the ground after his shower, have disappeared.

He shrugs; if Newt decided to come back to apologise, he should have waited, since Hermann spent at most ten minutes in the bathroom, _unlike someone else._

He heads to the cafeteria, trying to suppress his thoughts about the previous night with more practical questions, like the boxes he’ll have to pack today, or the apartment- _the apartment. The one-person apartment._

He grabs a cup of black coffee and mutters a “good morning” to Tendo, who’s passing by.

“Good morning.” He says back. “No whiskey for you, after all.” he adds, winking.

Hermann strikes him a questioning look.

“Newt asked me if I could help him find an apartment for two people, ‘even a single bedroom is fine, no, it’s better actually, as long as it has two beds- for now, at least.’ He looked very excited. More than usual, I mean. So, I was right.” Tendo pats his shoulder and goes on, already greeting another worker sitting at a table.

Hermann frowns. There’s no way Newt is thinking about moving in with him- so who is he moving in with?

His mind takes stock of every person Newt has interacted with in the last five years. Could it be the mailman that he found in his bedroom, three years ago, when he went there to give him back the hoodie he’d forgotten at the lab? Or the secretary that he used to have at the beginning -no, wait, it was _Hermann’s_ secretary, actually, that Newton had been very jealous of since his was pretty close to her sixties- that he shamelessly flirted with at every given moment? Or their old lab assistant, that he knew Newt had sent a Christmas card to?

He directly goes to the lab, without stopping at a table-after this, he doesn’t feel like talking to anyone.

To his disappointment, Newt is already there, sitting at one of the desks -Hermann’s desk, right in front of his blackboards and his ladder- and using a computer.

“Sorry I took your desk, man.” he anticipates him. “Mine is, uh, kind of messy.” he gestures vaguely to his side of the lab, where half-empty boxes are tossed almost everywhere. Hermann nods. “It’s fine.” he says, his voice cold.

“Is everything okay?” Newt looks up from his laptop, then he stands, gesturing for Hermann to take the chair. “I hope you aren’t still mad about this morning. Because I wanted to show you this really good flat I found- it’s at walking distance from MIT, has a balcony, accepts pets and, of course, it has an elevator.”

He points at the screen, and the sight of the pics on the estate page makes Hermann nauseous. “You should ask your partner, not me.” He replies, stone-cold.

Newt laughs, leaning against Hermann’s ladder.. “Come on, dude, just tell me if you like it.” He draws a breath and stretches his whole body against the ladder, eyes half-closed, and Hermann’s hand grips his cane so tight that his knuckles turn white in an attempt to keep his composure.

“I don’t see how my opinion could matter in regards of your choice of apartment. As I said, you should discuss it with your partner.” He bites his tongue before asking who his partner is, because he wants to know, he needs to know, but it’s not his business and the information won’t do him any good anyway. He turns around, desperately looking for something to do in the room, so he can avoid the conversation; but Newt isn’t of the same mind. He opens his eyes, looking at him with a perplexed expression; then, he walks up to Hermann and takes his arm, forcing him to turn towards him again. “Dude, it’s you.”

“Sorry?”

“For a genius, you’re really, really stupid, Hermann. I want to move in with you, you _fucking_ bastard.” He almost screams, standing up and taking both his hands. He looks at him smiling, a subtle hint of malice in his eyes.

Hermann stares at him, blinking. “You what?”

He sees Newt’s expression change slowly as insecurity creeps in. “I want to move in with you. If you want, of course. I thought- I thought you said you wanted it, last night. And since I really, really want it, I thought I’d take the chance- fortune favors the bold, am I right? But it’s fine, it’s fine if you don’t want it, eh, I guess this is just one of the worst fails of my life, which is really a lot, considering that my life is just a long series of–“

Before Newt’s rambling monologue can end, Hermann physically stops him by throwing himself in his arms. He holds Newt closer, his hands pulling him by his waist. After a second of surprise, Newt hugs him back, wrapping his arms around Hermann’s shoulders.

“Aw, man.” he smiles, running an hand through his hair, ruffling them up in a way that Hermann wishes he could find annoying. “I thought I misinterpreted the signals, that I was about to– okay, I’d better shut up.” he eventually sighs, holding the other tighter.

-

“Newton, where are my tickets?” Hermann shouts from the entrance, nervously searching through his pockets.

“Where you put them, Hermann.” Newt lazily answers from the kitchen.

“Well, I put them in my parka’s pockets, but now they aren’t there.” Hermann answers back, increasingly nervous.

“And how the hell would I know if they were in _your_ parka?” Newt emerges from the door, one of Hermann’s old sweaters on.

“Oh, you’re right, how could you possibly know since it’s in no way a habit of yours to steal my clothes?” Hermann remarks sarcastically, going through the room and moving everything, still in desperate search of the tickets.

Newt looks at himself, unable to deny his guilt. “To my defence, they’re very comfortable.” _And they smell like you, and when you’re away, I can’t sleep without one of your ridiculous sweaters on,_ he bites his lip to not add.

“Remind me to only buy the most uncomfortable articles of clothing I can find from now on.” Hermann snorts, moving a cup of coffee decorated with a flourescent green slogan saying ‘It must be chemistry’ that has been sitting on their living room for weeks now. “And put your cups on the dishwasher, for mercy’s sake. Three days ago I found another under the bed- a spider had made its nest in it.”

“Fuck, dude, and you didn’t call me? Studying the effects of caffeine on a spider would have been the project of my life.” Newt sounds seriously offended as he takes the cup Hermann’s handing him and takes it to the next room.

“Of course, Newton. That, and, on the second place, saving the world or something.” Hermann mutters, finally resorting to opening his already packed bag and trying to find his wallet.

“But you didn’t kill the spider, did you?” Newt comes back, the question apparently haunting him.

“God, Newton, you care more about that spider than you do about my tickets! I’m going to miss the flight if you don’t help me!”

Newt doesn’t say anything, just looks at him with widened eyes.

“No, Newton, no! I didn’t kill that spider, I brought it out and let it free. It’s true. Are you happy now? Can you tell me where the hell you put those tickets?” Hermann eventually snaps.

“Where _I_ have put them?” Newt echoes. His palms start sweating; he should have expected that Hermann would find out, one day or another- but he’s not ready to face this discussion. Not now. But if not now, when?  
“You make it sound like I hid them from you on purpose or something.” He laughs nervously. Like it isn’t exactly what he’s been doing for three months, whenever Hermann has received an invitation for a conference. But his conscience has always bothered him, eventually, and, before Hermann could actually miss his flight, he’s put up a scene of magically finding the tickets in the least expectable of places.

“That’s what you’ve done the last five times, Newton.” Hermann answers, with a security that makes Newt shake to his core. He wonders how long Hermann has known.

“I haven’t-“

“Yes, you have. You think it’s a fun prank to see me running around the house in panic, and eventually come at me with that ‘oh, they were here the whole time! You should have just looked more carefully’. You’re a terrible liar, Newton.”

Newt lets out a sigh of relief, and concludes that, after all, the situation is not so terrible. He chuckles nervously. “Ha, you got me, dude. You uncovered my evil plan. I’m gonna get your tickets. They’re between my CDs, those filled with ‘that awful thing you have the nerve to call music, Newton’, because that’s the only place in the house you aren’t going to turn upside down with your obsession for cleaning up.” He tells him as he heads for the bedroom.

“It’s because I’m the only one who actually cleans up- oh, that’s besides the point.” Hermann hurries to close his bag again, exasperated. “You really have no idea of the impact of your actions, Newton. How the hell did you think that this is funny- what if I actually missed my flight? Is this because you’re jealous, since you’re not getting any invitation for conferences, or-“

“I’m not jealous.” Newt stands right behind him, and when Hermann turns around, he’s close, _too close_.  
Their fingers brush together as Newt passes him the infamous tickets. “Really, dude, I’m not jealous at all.” He repeats, thinking about all the invitations that he’s torn to pieces. No way he’s going to attend boring meetings or give lectures to students who are already disappointed at the very sight of him, at the price of leaving Hermann for longer than necessary.

Hermann takes the tickets and shoves them in his pocket. “Alright, I don’t really have the time now, since _someone_ hid my tickets and made me waste a good quarter of a hour, but we’ll need to have this conversation when I come back.” He looks at Newt for a second, then picks up his bag. “Goodbye, Newton.” He turns to the door, and Newt feels a throb of disappointment- but then Hermann comes back and kisses his forehead. Then, he rushes away, and before Newt can even realise, he’s out.

“I’m going to miss you terribly, man!” He shouts before Hermann closes the door, and he catches just a last hint of his wry smile. Then, the door closes between them, and Hermann is gone.

Newt sighs and dramatically throws himself on the couch. He gets his phone, opens his music, and chooses the most depressing playlist he can find.

Mouthing the words of the song, he passes a hand through his hair.

“ _We’ll need to have this conversation when I come back._ ” Fuck.

He considers pretending that he’s just really envious, as Hermann had thought already, but the idea alone is already enough to make him hate himself. It’s a sore subject; reminds him of feelings he isn’t proud of.  
He used to actually be jealous of Hermann, to thrive on his failures. But now, it’s different.

The drift was the proper culmination for whatever had been happening between them in the past five years. It was incredible, how they went from hatred to cohabitation to mutual respect to friendship, barely noticing the difference until Hermann had said those simple words.

“ _I’ll go with you_.”

Newt still smiles like an idiot when he thinks about it.  
He never felt as protected, cared for, and understood as he did in the drift. It became clear to him later than most of it had been him projecting his own feelings on Hermann, and that the drift connection had sent them back. But it was clear, at that point, that Hermann didn’t hate him.

Hell, even just the fact that they were compatible in the first place was enough to mess up with his head. When he got employed at the Shatterdome, every test they did on him revealed that, for him, having a drift experience would be almost impossible. They said it simple and clear; his head was messed up, and he wasn’t flexible at all when it came to compatibility. _Thank you very much, I knew both things on my own already_ , Newt had thought, wishing that he really didn’t care as much as he pretended to.

And yet… and yet he was compatible with _Hermann_.  
With Hermann. It wasn’t enough to get a worrying obsession with him through letters-letters that Newt still keeps in a box, hidden in a locked drawer that he opens only when Hermann is away- and ruining everything, _like he always does_. It wasn’t enough to find him again, to be forced to work together with him for five years.  
No, they had to stop the _fucking_ _apocalypse_ by connecting with each other.

It all changed after that, of course.  
The withdrawal had been terrible; Newt felt like his skin was burning, like it was tearing apart, and his stomach was knotted, and his head pounding, the only thought racing through his mind being _Hermann Hermann Hermann Hermann_ \- until eventually, he held his hand and everything was fine.

His fear of being clingy, of being too much, of being annoying -like he’d always been told he was- had been washed away on the third night from the drift. He and Hermann held each other in the dark, and he confessed to Newt that he felt it too.

The next day, they had decided to move in together, and, three months later, Newt still has no idea what Hermann was feeling for him.

At least, he has worked out his own feelings, which isn’t something to take for granted.

Yes, okay, Hermann isn’t easy to be around. He’s harsh, with himself and others, and over-dramatic; and he also denies his own over-dramaticity, which is even more annoying. He never admits being wrong, and, even worse, he hardly ever is. He has terrible fashion sense; it’s a waste of hotness. (And a very dangerous distraction for Newt’s volatile mind, since everything has to be left to his imagination.)  
He stresses Newt out over the little things; treats him like a little kid who could get hurt if left in a room alone for too long- but, arguably, Newt has given him plenty of reasons to do so.

But Newt adores him. Adores his dark humor, and the fact that Hermann is comfortable enough to share it with him; adores the curve of his neck and the sharp profile of his jawline, of his cheekbones. He adores his stupid haircut, his incomprehensible handwriting, adores the way he smiled at him when he was grading papers at 2 AM and Newt made him tea (he adored it less when their cat, who’s extremely jealous of Hermann, had tried to kill him -no matter what Hermann says, that was a vicious attack and Newt had been lucky to survive it- and made him pour half of the cup of tea on the papers.). He adores waking up from a nightmare and finding peace just at the sight of him.

Three months spent sharing their daily life, raising a stray cat and teaching at MIT; three months in which they had bickered about everything, from the color of their curtains -and, first, if they should have curtains at all, since Newt had insisted that doing without them would make a better environment for his plants.- to the disposition of every piece of furniture and personal possession that they’d brought to the house.

Three months of seeing each other in the most vulnerable moments; their two separated beds eventually had become a single king-sized one -when the delivery man had asked them who was moving in there with his wife, Newt had a great time hugging Hermann from behind and kissing his neck in front of him, cheerfully answering that they were living there together, which led to Hermann not talking to him for two days.- due to the increasing number of nights they spent clinging to the other to protect themselves from nightmares; three months full of little, unimportant domestic moments, fingers brushed while passing a coffee in the morning, movie nights with a bowl of popcorn and Hermann dissecting every scene of Newt’s favourite horror movies with cold logic, hands lingering after an hug that didn’t mean anything or maybe meant too much.

Newt is sure he’s going crazy.

It sounds like a sadistic torture-being in love with someone and living with them, sharing a bed, exchanging thoughts (even though it’s starting to happen a bit less frequently; Newt can’t decide if it is a bad or a good thing.), basking in the domestic bliss of every single moment, but never knowing what it actually is.

Is Newt being paranoid and reading too much into some of Hermann’s behaviours? Or is he in denial? Are things he sometimes hears hopeful, guilty pleasures, or are they actually Hermann’s thoughts transferred to him via ghost-drifting?

He considers looking in the fridge for a tub of ice cream, like any good teenage girl going through a break up. Only that it isn’t a break up.  
Maybe it’s even worse; he’s already gone through a couple of days in Boston without Hermann a lot of times-five, actually, but who’s counting?- and every time it has been hell. Besides working hours -during which it’s excruciating to not be able to check his phone, to see if Hermann has sent something, if there are news about his flight, if he’s _safe_ \- he spent the rest of his time trying to distract himself and failing miserably; he could barely manage a couple of hours of sleep in total, and spent the rest of the night clinging to one of Hermann’s sweaters, crying or reading their letters (he definitely knows some of them by memory at this point.)

And every time, he told himself a different variation of ‘ _Hell, dude, you can’t go on like this, just stop being a coward and tell him how you feel. What’s the worst that can happen_?’  
His fearless mindset lasted until Hermann came back home, and usually a couple more of days; he told himself that he was waiting for the right moment, while sending not-so-subtle signals. Signals that, of course, Hermann didn’t seem to get. Eventually, they had a bickering about something stupid that turned into a serious argument, didn’t talk to each other for a couple of days, and Newt concluded that Hermann definitely didn’t like him, since he also ignored all his attempts, and decided to keep suppressing his feelings.

Except that he isn’t very good at that, he finally thinks a couple of hours later, having moved from the couch to the bed, an empty tub of ice cream sitting on the floor and Hermann’s letters spread in front of him all over the bed.

 

‘[...] _Don’t apologise for your own brilliance! Your ideas spark a light in my mind and never have I felt so challenged by an exchange like ours. I wish for our confrontation to continue, and I hope I’m not being too eager in asking for our letters to become even more frequent. I feel as if we’ve both finally found an equal in each other, and please, forgive me if I’m going too fast, but I can’t contain my excitement in talking to you.’_

_‘Dearest Newton,_

_I was glad to hear about your disputation -your fifth one, if I’m not losing count, which would be entirely possible due to the improper and apparently floating number- going excellently. Not that anything else was expectable, after all. I think that anyone who knows you is somehow conscious of your intelligence, minus maybe yourself, despite your confident acting. But personally, I am deeply aware of your potential; it couldn’t be otherwise, after our passionate exchanging. I’m close to you in celebrating this achievement, and I send you my most heartfelt congratulations.’_

_‘[...]I’m definitely not adverse to your personal life being present in our letters as well; on the contrary, as I have an high esteem of you as a scientist, I’m very glad to have the privilege to get to_ _know you as a person, too._  
The situation you’ve described to me doesn’t seem ideal; I wish with my whole heart for you to be better soon.  
Remember to take care of yourself, as you deserve only the best, and let me know if there’s something I can do to help you. I’m shipping together with this letter a box of items that I thought you might find comfort into in this dark time; as you may have understood, my ability to be a good emotional support is limited, for which I apologise, but I hope that my gifts will remind you that, nevertheless, you have my thoughts, if not my physical presence.”

_‘Dearest Newton,_  
I have spent the period of time after your last letter in trepidation, and every single day I’ve been haunted by the longing to read your next words. There hasn’t been a morning that didn’t see me rush to the mailbox immediately after I woke up, in hopes of hearing from you. The silence was excruciating to me and when I finally received an answer, I was incredibly relieved to find out that, if your letter hadn’t reached me earlier, it was only due to technical problems.  
It has occurred to me that it would be more practical if we exchanged our email addresses; but -and please, don’t make fun of me for this little silliness- I feel strangely attached to handwritten letters. The idea that every word I’m reading was drawn by your hand, and that the paper that I hold when I read about your thoughts was previously touched by you as well, moves me in a way I can’t rationalise.  
Again, I beg you not to laugh at this thought of mine; you know I am a scientist and I like to define myself as a rational man; but, perhaps especially since I am such, I must admit to myself that some sensations shouldn’t be explained, and that it is necessary to maintain a slight hint of irrational in our life in order for it to be enjoyable; better, these irrationalities should be kept like one of our biggest treasures, and the one who has never felt them should learn not to laugh at them, as one day, he who least expects it could fall victim to them, and be so deeply entangled he won’t even want to go back.’

_‘Dearest Newton,_

_How could you believe that the idea of meeting you would make me feel nothing but the purest joy? Honestly, I wish I was next to you right now- just so I could tell you in person how much of an idiot you are._   
_To me, you are endearing and infinitely interesting, every day- and I can only imagine how much better it would be face to face. I would be angry at you for thinking so low of our friendship, after all we’ve shared, if it wasn’t for the fondness I feel for you, even in your most self-deprecating part, which seems so hard to eradicate.  
However, I understand your need for reassurations, and I’m open to fulfill it; so, I’ll repeat it more clearly: never doubt of our friendship and of my will to relate with you, either by letters or in the flesh.’_

Newt slowly reads his favourite bits another time, finishing some of the sentences in his mind before he can even read them; that’s how many times he went through them.

_You’re obsessive, dude. You’re a creep._

With this last thought, his hand instinctively grabs another sheet of paper, different from all the rest. It’s not covered in Hermann’s handwriting; instead, it has the cold perfection of a printed e-mail.

‘ _Dr. Geiszler,_

_In light of the last happenings between us, it’s undeniable to me that our correspondence must come to an end. I was hoping for our research to keep being prolific, but it seems like our personalities aren’t compatible, and therefore, I’m afraid that working together won’t bring any profit.  
Therefore, I inform you that I no longer will be responding to any letters sent from your person, and I warmly encourage you not to contact me any longer. I’m confident that this request will be respected, as it seemed to me that we, at least, agree on our will to be away from the other._

_Greetings,  
Dr. Hermann Gottlieb’_

He sobs as tears start running down his cheeks.  
He really feels like the main character of a stupid romcom. Only that, if it was a stupid romcom, his tears would fall slowly and poetically, like drops of water on a car window in a rainy day, his face still somehow fresh and pretty, covered in layers of invisible waterproof makeup; if it was a stupid romcom, this would be the darkest moment that immediately precedes the resolving plot twist: the door would be thrown open and Hermann would stand there, and look at him with a knowing smile, handsome as hell and ready to take Newt in his arms and kiss him; but he’s sobbing and whining, shaken by his ugly cry, and the door stays closed, there’s no sound coming from the living room, except for-

except for a click of keys, and then the thump of a door slamming, and a German curse word yelled in a familiar voice; and then, the regular steps of someone walking with a cane.

_This is impossible. He can’t be back already; and it’s too late for him to come back because he’s forgotten something._

“Newton, I’m home. My flight was delayed two hours due to the weather, and eventually it was cancelled. I hope you’re happy now, since I-“

Newt doesn’t have time to process and recover from the surprise, that Hermann has already opened the bedroom door.

As soon as he sees him, he immediately stops talking and just stands there, mouth agape, staring at the mess in front of him.

“W-welcome back, dear.” Newt chirps, uselessly hiding the letter he’s holding behind his back.

“What are you doing? What are those? Why are you crying?” Hermann’s worry escalates as he rushes to the bed and picks up one of the letters.

“No-“ Newt protests weakly, trying to reach for the letter, but the other brushes him off with a gesture and starts reading. His eyes quickly scan the first lines, then he looks at him puzzled. “These are my letters. I thought you had thrown them away years ago.”

Newt lets out a bitter laugh. “Throw them away? God, no. How the hell would I manage when you aren’t here- how would I-“ another sob cuts him off, and Hermann immediately lets go of the letter and holds him. Newt pathetically leans on him, his tears flooding Hermann’s shirt, and tries to pull himself together. Eventually, he manages to stop sobbing for a second, and sputters an apology.

“You _idiot_.” Is Hermann’s only response, to which Newt starts sobbing again.

“No, no, no, wait-“ Hermann tries to comfort him, panicked, and pats his shoulder awkwardly. Newt pulls back, trying to avoid the contact, trying to stay away, because now he’s messed up, now Hermann knows and nothing is ever going to be the same again, and of course he had to ruin it, like he does with everything, of course-

“Newton!” Hermann finally snaps, grabbing him by his sweater and forcing him to look in his eyes. “Say it.”

“Hermann-“

“Say it. Now. I want to hear it.” He’s ruthless; there’s no mercy in the way he’s looking at him, in his grip on Newt’s -Hermann’s, actually, he remembers- sweater.

Eventually, after one last sob, Newt clenches his jaw and, almost in an act of defiance, he says it.  
“I like you.”

“You imbecile.” Hermann’s expression softens. “You idiot.” he repeats, as he lets go of his sweater and moves his hands to Newt’s face, gently cupping his cheeks. “You incredibly stupid man, you-“

Hermann smiles, and looks at him in a way -in a way- that makes Newt shake to his core, that for a moment let’s him believe that maybe, _maybe_ \- _but no, it can’t be-_

Then, he kisses him.

Maybe this _is_ a stupid romcom, is Newt last thought, before his mind shuts down and there’s nothing else, nothing but Hermann, nothing but the fading, comforting sensation of the drift, of not being alone anymore. There’s blue behind his closed eyes, and some memories play out again, now with a different meaning; it’s like they’re living their whole story all over again, but now, it all makes sense; all the directions point to now, and there, in this right moment in their little apartment, where they’re kissing over the letters covered in Hermann’s handwriting and Newt’s tears.

The kiss is brief, chaste, but it’s enough to make him feel like nothing did before. To make him feel _home_.

Hermann pulls back and looks at him, his eyes glistening; the blue fades, leaving behind a delicate connection, an exchanging of thoughts that go too fast, overwhelming them and leaving them breathless.

“If I saw you forever, Newt, every day,” Hermann whispers, his voice shaky for the emotion “I would remember this time.”

Newt smiles back at him. Hermann looks beautiful as ever, his lips slightly more red and his hair wilder than usual, leaning towards Newt in expectation.  
Newt’s eyes linger on his bone structure, sculpted like one of Nature’s miracles, and on his fair complexion that could be that of a nobleman; he caresses his elegant neck, and one of his clavicles, visible from his askew shirt; he exudes grace and an ethereal beauty that leaves Newt speechless, the feeling that people often describe when they talk about a masterpiece in a museum, or-

“Stop it.” Hermann blushes violently.

Newt looks at him confused, before realising that they’re sharing their thoughts, again. He feels Hermann’s embarrassment, his vulnerability; and at the same time, how flattered he is, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.  
He grins. “Why, are you embarrassed?”

“No- it’s that- just stop, Newton, that’s not-“ Hermann starts stuttering, as his cheeks get more and more flushed. “I’m not-“ _attractive_. He doesn’t say it, but Newt hears it anyway.

“I can’t control my own thoughts, babe.” He replies sweetly, his hand resting softly on Hermann’s sharp cheek, fingers tracing the outline of his cheekbone. “And this means I also can’t lie.”

He kisses him again; this time, it’s longer, hotter, and they both linger. They fall back on the bed, tangled around each other, and when they finally pull back, they’re both breathless.

“We’ve been both such idiots.” Newt whispers as he slowly strokes Hermann’s hair. “And we’ve wasted so much time-“

“It doesn’t matter.” Hermann cuts him off, pulling him closer and surrounding him with his arms. Newt curls up against him, finally relaxing. The other whispers in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. “We have now. And-“ he hesitates; Newt brushes his lips on his neck, pressing himself against him, holding him tighter as an encouragement. “-and as long as you want.” Hermann finally concludes.

Newt smiles, pulls back just enough to look in his eyes.  
“Even-“

He’s not able to say anything else; they just share a look, deep and intense, enough for the unspoken words stuck in his throat to be heard anyway.

... _forever_?

 _Even forever_.


	2. Chapter 2

_Even forever._

The journalist is young, a stain of lipstick on her teeth, and talks hurriedly, as if the announcement she’s making greatly excites her, despite the heavy rain hitting on her umbrella outside of the intimidating building that’s home to Shao Industries.

“Shao Industries scored a point against the Pan Pacific Defence Corps., as Newton Geiszler finally joined its ranks.  
Geiszler, who has landed a few hours ago, is a renowned xenobiologist with six PhDs, who played a prominent part in ending the Kaiju War thanks to his ground-breaking research and, especially-“

The rest of the news feel blurred to Hermann’s ears, an unintelligible buzz that his brain apparently refuses to acknowledge. And what for?  
He already knows all he needs to know.

_“Look at this shit I received, dude. ‘We discourage our employees from personal involvement with subjects linked to rival companies’ Ha! Like I’d leave you to work for some corrupt multinational.”_

He’d known he was holding Newt back, no matter how many times Newt repeated that there was no place he’d rather be than “ _here, now, with you_ ”. Really, it shouldn’t have been a surprise; he knew that, sooner or later, Newt was going to leave him too.

And he had been right.

The ring is heavy in his hand, ice-cold like the lifeless metal it’s made of can be; no matter how vividly the golden circle shines in the dim lighting of their -or just his, because using the plural seems unfitting, at this point- living room, no matter the meaning it was supposed to have. In the end, a golden ring is just a golden ring. Nothing more.

Just a mocking reminder of how stupid of him it was to try and ignore his inner voice, to dismiss his rationality as paranoia, and especially, how pathetic his attempt at holding Newt back was.

What if he hadn’t brought that stupid ring? What if he hadn’t asked Newt that infamous question?  
 _Maybe he would still be there,_ a voice in his head answers.  
 _Or maybe it would have just been a matter of time. Maybe you would have had a couple of weeks more, but the signs were already there. You had no chance from the first day,_ another talks back.

He will never forget the look on his face when he finally did it.

“Will you- will you marry me?”  
It felt already vulnerable enough, to be down on one knee, looking up at him with an expectation that now, in insight, is ridiculous.  
But when Newt looked at him- when he looked at him, the ghost-drifting resurfaced again. He felt what Newt was feeling. And what he was feeling was _fear_.

Newt stood still, too still for him, unnaturally petrified in the embodiement of terror.

“I- I can’t.” Was all that came out of his mouth, a pained wheeze, barely audible.

Then, he snapped back out of it.

He made a beeline for their bedroom, without even giving Hermann the time to stand back up. He came back holding his keys and his wallet, rushedly shoving them in the pocket of the jacket he’d put on.

“Don’t wait for me.” He muttered, and then, he was out.

Hermann didn’t have the time to react, to try and stop him. And maybe, it was better that way. It’s clear now that trying to hold him back even more would have been useless.

After the door closed behind Newt, he realised he was still in that uncomfortable position- his knee on the cold, hard ground, the little packet with the ring in his hand, raised like it was offering it to nothingness.

The next hours are confused; despite what Newt had told him, Hermann spent them waiting for him, curled up on their couch, tormenting himself by over-analysing everything he’d done wrong.

Eventually, when time flew past 3 AM, he called him- but of course, Newt didn’t answer. And then again, and again, until it was 4:30 and he’d called him no less than 15 times. That’s when he decided to take action.

The search was just as useless; he went through all the places Newt could possibly be, from bars and pubs to all the public places he could have found open at that time. He even went as far as to call some of their acquaintances, including Tendo, who offered to “kick his ass” as soon as he would come back home - _“because you know he’s going to come back, right? He’s going to crawl at your feet and beg you to forgive him for being so stupid.”_ \- and a very worried Mako that offered to help him on the search, which he politely refused.

He also texted the two of Newt’s exes whose numbers he had, or could obtain, begging them to let him know if Newt made an appearance, just so he would know he was safe.  
There was a guy, who he’d dated in college, that didn’t text back- which was understandable, considering the hour; and a woman that he’d dated later. She lived in a different time zone, apparently, because she texted him back almost immediately, telling him that she had no idea where Newt was, but that this kind of scene didn’t sound completely new to her, which wasn’t really comforting.

He tried repeatedly calling Newt, decided to leave a message but was unable to find the words; eventually, he gave up; his body betrayed him and he fell asleep, fully clothed, his phone slipping away from his hand.

It was only in the morning that he found out where he was.

Tendo called him early and said “You haven’t watched the news, right?”

Hermann felt like he was drowning.  
He rushed to the controller, turned on the TV and started switching through channels.  
Maybe his worst fears had come true; maybe they finally found him, face-down in a ditch, or stabbed in an alley for a couple of dollars, or laying dead on a park bench with an empty bottle of pills in his hand, or-

Finally, he found what he was looking for.

“Hermann, man, are you still here? Listen, I really didn’t want to be the one to tell you this, but-“

He hangs up on Tendo.

They’re showing a record of Newt rushedly getting out of Shao’s private plane, followed by two bodyguards. He’s wearing different clothes than those he had when he left their house, and a pair of sunglasses that make his expression unreadable.

  
And here he’s left, holding the ring in his clenched fist, like touching that awful, awful object that made Newt go away is going to make him come back, as he recovers from an awful, dry cry, with sighs that made him feel like he was about to suffocate.

  
Maybe forever was too long, after all, he thinks, as warm tears finally start streaming down his cheeks.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for getting this far ;)  
> also, if you want to have some angst-free good time you should probably stop there. The next chapter is just the expression of how much I like suffering, but, as you can see, this ending is just fine if you want to ignore Uprising and be happy.  
> but if you want to suffer then by all means go ahead :) bc apparently no matter how much I love these two idiots, I will never be able to give them a happy ending.


End file.
